


come lay with me

by celestialfics



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Idiots in Love, M/M, Sleep, martin's tea motif is very important to me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24278353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/celestialfics/pseuds/celestialfics
Summary: Throughout their years together at the Magnus Institute, Jon and Martin have each had their fair share of napping on the job.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist
Comments: 20
Kudos: 171





	come lay with me

**Author's Note:**

> just..ha… worming my way around figuring out these characters.. felt like doing a kind of canon-timeline study-ish kinda whatever this is and well, hope you’ll like it :) i hate these idiots
> 
> special thanks to my friends indigo and cassidy for helping me out with this (and getting me into tma in the first place lol)

It happened a lot more often when Martin was living in the Archives. Jon would wake with a jump from his accidental slumber at his desk to discover a blanket draped over his shoulders that smelled remarkably of chamomile, and he’d grumble a bit to himself before taking it off and folding it neatly for Martin to find in the morning.

The first time it’d happened had been particularly embarrassing, as Jon had absolutely _no_ intention of laying his cheek against the dark wood of his desk and sleeping like the dead after a long day of unsatisfying statements. And, well, that in itself wouldn’t have been so embarrassing had Jon not awoken to a puddle of drool, alongside Martin’s blanket around him and a still-hot mug of tea. So, Martin definitely saw _that_.

But Jon had also seen Martin burst into the room in his underwear. He supposed they were just about equal, then.

After Prentiss’s attack, though, Jon began locking his door. He never fell asleep at the Institute anymore, but even the possibility left him turning the lock on the door. Not that something as simple as a lock could stop anything these days, not really. It only served as a sliver of comfort in a place where everyone’s eyes were on Jon, and Jon’s eyes were on everyone.

Martin—of _course_ it was Martin—had broken through first. With his tea and his stuttering apologies and—

Well, nevermind that.

Martin had moved out of the Archives by that point, but it’s not like Jon didn’t notice him hanging around late, only leaving after Jon himself had gone. If it hadn’t been _Martin_ , then maybe Jon would have thought he was being followed. Watched.

Of course he was. He was always being watched. But with Martin, it felt less like watching and more like seeing. More like caring, maybe.

And one day, when Jon’s paranoia and lack of sleep finally got the best of him, he jolted awake to the sound of frantic knocking at his door and Martin’s voice on the other side of the wood: “Jon… Jon! I know you’re in there, would you— Are you okay? Jon!”

Jon rubbed at one of his eyes with a balled fist and stood slowly from his chair, feeling the stretch of his spine as he got up. He set his hand on the knob and inhaled deeply, preparing himself for— for Martin.

“Hello, Martin,” he greeted calmly as he swung the door open, “Is there something…” he trailed off, his eyes widening slightly at the sight in front of him.

There Martin stood, looking halfway between terrified and absolutely pissed. “ _‘Hello, Martin’_?” he repeated, “Jon, I’ve been trying to get to you for ten _minutes_. What were you doing?”

Jon blinked at him, slow. “I… was reading a statement,” he lied unconvincingly, folding his hands together in front of him.

“I’m not an idiot, Jon,” Martin responded, “I couldn’t hear you speaking, and you wouldn’t respond to me, but I knew you hadn’t left—”

“Keeping tabs on me, then?” Jon interrupted, half-sarcastic.

“Shut up,” Martin snapped. “No, really. Shut up. I thought something had—” Martin cut off sharply, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It’s not safe here, Jon.”

Something in Jon softened. “You ought not worry about me—”

Martin snorted, cutting him off. “You don’t get to say that.” He let out a long, shaky sigh, holding Jon’s gaze. “You’re running yourself into the ground, the least you can let me do is…” He paused, like he didn’t know what he could say. What he could _do_.

“I can take care of myself,” Jon said.

“Like hell you can, Jon. Look at yourself.”

Okay. Maybe Martin had a point. But there were more important things at work in the Institute, and if Jon didn’t take care of them, if Jon didn’t figure out who murdered Gertrude, then— Well, the least of Jon’s concern was his own well-being.

They were silent for a few beats, before Jon just shook his head and said, “Was there something you needed, then, Martin?”

Martin sighed, resigned. “Just some follow up on a statement.”

—

The next time Martin caught Jon asleep wasn’t for a long time. Living with Georgie meant it was now the Admiral’s job to watch over him as he slept, though the Admiral was just as demanding as his… _former_ assistant. He woke to mewling constantly.

Then he was kidnapped and such, you know, as Archivists were wont to be. After that, Martin wasn’t his former assistant anymore, just back to being the real thing, and Jon was technically reinstated at the Institute, but he had places to be. He had things to learn. He had… people to protect.

When he returned, though, he was tired as ever. He never really gave half a thought as to why it was so easy for sleep to find him when he was inside the Institute, because, considering everything, it just kind of… made sense.

And when he woke up one night to a familiar blanket draped over his shoulders and to that distinct smell of chamomile tea, Jon allowed himself a smile.

—

Then came the longest slumber of Jon’s life. And when he woke, Martin was nowhere to be found.

Jon asked Basira for tea, and she didn’t hear him.

—

Jon never liked this part of the Institute. Elias’s— _Peter’s_ office always had extra eyes, always had to let him _know_ that he was being observed, but now… There was another layer. An oppressive sense of quiet seeped through the walls, and doors upon doors led to empty rooms. One room was not empty, this much Jon knew. That was why he even dared come down these hallways.

As much as he trusted Martin, Jon worried about him tenfold. It was only natural that despite Martin’s insistence that Jon leave him alone, Jon _had_ to visit him sometimes. Even if Martin hadn’t necessarily… known Jon was there.

The door creaked slightly as Jon opened it, and Jon let out a short breath upon sight of Martin slumped over his desk, enveloped in sleep. He had known Martin was asleep, of course. He knew things, and he knew that this was the only way he could _see_ Martin without him pulling his new disappearing act.

He approached Martin’s slumbering form slowly, careful not to wake him as he settled himself down into a nearby chair.

“Martin,” he started, lowly, so lowly Martin probably wouldn’t have been able to hear even if he were awake, “I know this is— this is quite silly, really, coming to see you like this. But, well, I miss you. I’ve told you that, haven’t I? Yes, of course I have.”

Jon let out a long sigh, looking at his hands that folded together in his lap. “I don’t suppose you’d appreciate a blanket right now, though, would you? I didn’t at first— appreciate it, I mean, your doting. Made me feel… vulnerable, you having seen me like that.”

He laughed, short and breathy. Quiet, very quiet.

“I was so… rude to you back then, and yet you still…” He broke off. “Well, I suppose that doesn’t matter now, what with you… not wanting anything to do with me. And yes, Martin, I _know_ , I’ve heard the tapes, you’re trying to… protect me. You’re trying to protect us. And I have to take your word for that.”

A shaky breath.

“But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt, Martin. To know you’re here, to know you’re suffering, to know I can’t—”

Jon took his bottom lip between his teeth, shaking his head.

“I trust you, Martin, I do. And if you get lost, I’ll— I’ll find you. I promise.”

—

After everything—or, after what Jon had then _assumed_ to be everything—he and Martin entered something akin to a dream with one another, a little cabin in rural Scotland, safe and perhaps most importantly, together. They woke tangled each morning, Jon’s long, messy hair splayed against a pillow and Martin’s arm thrown over Jon’s bare chest. Martin always woke first, and if Jon drooled, he never said anything about it, just brought some tea to the bedroom so Jon would wake to that lovely smell of chamomile, grateful for his life to have led him here.

He should have known, of course, that it was too good to last.

—

In the new world, there is no need for sleep. 

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [twitter](http://twitter.com/liquidsaints) & [tumblr](http://liquidsaints.tumblr.com/)
> 
> thanks for reading! <3


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